


Reach

by thecolorofstars



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Post-Sburb, Post-Scratch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecolorofstars/pseuds/thecolorofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dear fucking diary. I am the tree, it is me. I'm neglected, dirty, and dim. All that I am is a painful reminder of a time that was once joyful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nadiya](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Nadiya).



> This was a birthday present for my matesprit and was supposed to be up by Christmas, but that didn't quite work out. The entire first part is already written, but this tiny bit worked well on it's own. I'll upload the rest once I finish editing it.

Dear fucking diary. I am the tree, it is me. I'm neglected, dirty, and dim. All that I am is a painful reminder of a time that was once joyful. Okay, sorry. That was terrible and sounded like a Fight Club reference. I am Dave’s ratty Christmas tree. Anyway, I've still made my point.  
My name is Dave Strider and I'm not actually a tree. What I am is a hopeless, futureless college dropout who is skating by on a bar job. One who still celebrates Christmas not because he gives a damn, but because his best bro loves the holidays. Of course, all I've got in the way of decorations are an unbelievably shitty tree and four ridiculously fancy ornaments painted as a favor by some chick from college. She wanted to know what they were supposed to represent. I told her the truth and she told me that once she finished them, she didn't ever want to talk to me again.  
They're reminders of my friends. The friends that don't know me. After we got out of that dumb game, we were dumped into the world without any knowledge of what was going on. What's more, there's some serious shit missing from our lives. They don't even know that; their minds have been sealed off to it or something. However, I didn't get that luxury. My first weeks were spent trying to get in touch with them. That didn't work. Going on as if nothing had happened didn't work either; I broke down and ended up at a therapist. When they turned the chair around to look at me, the face staring back at me was the same dark-lipped, pale-skinned face I had been missing for ages.  
After that, I took temporary jobs, going wherever I could get close to them. First I was a secretary at Rose's therapy place, then a helper at Jade's greenhouse. Neither lasted longer than a few weeks, it just got too painful too quickly. After that, I spent nearly six months working in John's little joke shop. I had enough money in the bank to keep paying for school for a while, but when the money started to run out I wasted no time dropping out. My apartment didn't cost much, but I couldn't pay for school and housing if I wanted to keep putting food on the table. It wasn't long after that when I quit my job at the joke shop. Sure, I loved working with my best bro every day, but I could only take so much. He had no idea who I was, which made it just that much worse when I realized what I felt for him.  
Let’s leave that topic alone and go back to the ornaments. For your benefit, you stupid journal, I’ll describe them. Jade's ornament glimmers with silvery sparkles whenever the candle light flickers on it. The dark green background contrasts with the silver nicely, with a nod to her silly dog in the white leafy vine designs circling the orb. My sister's ornament is pink, with cloudy black puffs over the girliness for... obvious reasons. There's a silver one too, not shimmering like Jade's sparkles, but just dully hanging there like a certain planet that I never quite ended up seeing. The girl didn't understand why I was so animate that each zodiac sign be in a certain order in certain colors, but she ended up doing it right in the end. Then there's my favorite. The subtly sparkling white misted over a sky blue, forming nearly invisible clouds that still managed to pull together into one coherent shape. That one’s for John. He was my best bro, my only bro. Back then I couldn't imagine a life without him chattering in my ear, always smiles and jokes and laughter. Sometimes I even wished I could be free of him for a while. Now I just wish that he would remember me.  
You see, I know that they can. Remember, I mean. Jade did. Almost. She remembered my title, though she has no idea what it means. It is and was the most amazing thing that has happened to me since the scratch. Jade was just walking through the greenhouse, spraying the plants with the necessary amount of water, doling out tasks to the one employee in the room like there was an infinite amount of tomorrows that all had me working in that room.  
"Dave, please check the roses again, they seem to be wilting. Also, please fix that water pressure thingy and feed the animals. After that, if you have time, please fix the fish tank."  
So naturally I replied like I would have in the game. You can’t blame me, it was pure habit.  
"Sure Jade, whatever. I've got all of the time in the world. All of it."  
What I didn't expect was for her to follow suit.  
"Haha, my Knight of Time. Come to rescue me in his shining record shirt."  
That wouldn't be all that odd, something anyone could say.  
Except when I took my record shirt off on the day we got out, I never put it back on. I haven't worn that shirt in years. Her face twisted, as if she knew that she'd said something out of the norm, but she couldn't place a finger on what was so weird. That is why I decorate my tree every year and remind myself of all of those painful memories. That is why I have hope.  
Well I did mention a bar job, now didn’t I? Yeah, that’s a thing that really does exist, so I need to go get some sleep. My hours are all turned around for this damn job, working at night and sleeping whenever the sun comes up. I’ve already spilled basically my whole life story to this thing, so here’s to the first and last day that I will ever write in this stupid journal. Yours truly, Dave fucking Strider.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I didn't know...

Green light blinds me, flaring up suddenly and pulling me apart, atom by atom. I wonder idly if I can die like this after reaching god tier. It isn’t as if I’ve had much time to figure that shit out. Rose is gripping my hand so tightly that I’m seriously losing feeling in my fingers, but now isn’t the time to care about that. Jade grabs Rose's free hand in one hand and reaches for John's hand with her other. John squeezes her hand tightly and reached out for mine. I try to grab it, I really do. It isn’t my fault that the universe decides to take a shit right then. There’s even more light now and so much buzzing that I can’t think straight. At first it surprises me, it isn’t a huge boom like everyone thought it would be. Just this damned buzzing that pulls your mind away from anything and everything important, blurs your vision, and generally fucks you up. Long story short, I miss.

"Dave! Grab my hand! Please!" he screams, his voice dim and desperate behind the noise.

Instantly, I feel like the most pathetic being in the world. I can’t even move enough to just fucking grab his hand.

"Dave!"

Finally I'm unfrozen, but by the time that I reach for his hand again it's too late. It’s always too late.

My eyes fly open and I lay there, paralyzed, for the longest time. If only I’d stopped chickening out long enough to grab his hand, we would all be here and they would all remember. Leave it to me to screw up right at the last moment, right when it really mattered. Sure, everyone survived, but I shattered us all into different lives. They’re happy; I’ve checked on that. Like everyone else in this Godless universe, they have their problems, but over all they’re fine. That was the most important thing to me, so I guess I did accomplish something in the end, even if I did end up alone in the end.

Right after I’d gotten out of the game, once I realized where I was and what had happened, I remember that I had felt hopeless. My apartment was empty, which felt wrong despite the fact that I don’t remember it being any other way. No matter how hard I tried to remember someone raising me, I came up with just painful emotions that I didn’t understand. Back then, in the heat of the moment, I put a gun to my head. Where the gun came from has always been a mystery to me, it was just there. That had pulled me out of my daze; the metal was too cold against my temple. Nobody would have cared about my death; I would have been just another statistic. Still, I could bring myself to do it. Some bullshit about being a man kept repeating in my head, so I put the gun away and locked the drawer. On my way out of the house, the key found a new home in the sewer system.

With a loud sigh, I drag my feet away from the covers and onto the floor. Ignoring the tingle of the cold tile, I stand up and reach for my dresser. Only bare wood stares back at me, but it isn’t like I expected any different. After grabbing some pants from a pile of clothes that may or may not have been dirty, I pull a shirt on and grab my shades. Giving my hair a quick glance, I run a hand through it and decide that it’s good enough. The clock strikes six and I decide to skip breakfast in favor of being only fashionably late to my job. There’s a big holiday party tonight and everyone has to be there an hour early to help set up. The only good thing about it is that I get to attend the party since I’m not technically scheduled to work. All that I have to do is wear a shirt with the bar’s logo on it and play chaperone. Chaperone rules are pretty simple. Boot the minors, send the sex addicts to another room, and make sure that anyone who starts puking is put in the quiet room with bread and a bucket. All of the workers donate a loaf or two of the cheapest shit that they can get.

I arrive late, but only by about ten minutes. After throwing my bike in the storeroom like usual, I throw myself into preparation. They ask me to get the quiet room ready, which is a one man job. It never actually gets quiet in there, the music is always too loud and people chatter in the hallway constantly. Still, it’s better than being on the makeshift dance floor. There isn’t much to do, I just throw the puke-stained pillows on the puke-stained couches and pile buckets around the room. If someone needs to yak, they’ll always have their own personal yak receptacle. That said being around the buckets still has me looking over my shoulder to see if a certain blind alien is staring to my right and gasping in horror. Part of me is afraid of what she’d do to me. Most of me just wants to talk to her again. All of me knows that I won’t ever get to again.

We spend the rest of the time just sort of wandering around, waiting for the attendees to show up. T-shirts were handed out and most workers went straight to customizing. By the time the first person shows up, most of the t-shirts are missing sleeves and slit up to the extreme. As long as it’s identifiable as a bar t-shirt, it doesn’t matter. Mine is missing the sleeves, collar, and hem. I don’t believe that showing off every inch of my bodily that is lawfully allowed is the way to be cool. The whole “irony” thing is hard to keep up these days, but I’ve been practicing all of my life. It doesn’t matter anyway; I don’t quite care about being cool anymore. There isn’t much that I do care about.

I stand near the door, clearly not a bouncer but still an obvious threat, or something like that. The crowd that floods in tries to ignore me, but the minors make wide arcs around me, watching me with suspicion in their eyes. All I’m doing is looking for someone interesting to show up. Someone I know, a hot girl… hell, even a hot guy. Someone to keep me occupied for the night. As long as I don’t have to stand on the sidelines amusing myself by picking out all of the DJ’s flaws, I don’t give a fuck. Or maybe I do give a fuck; it depends on how annoying the chosen one is. Just as the crowd starts to thin out and I begin to think that I’ll just go get a drink, I notice him. I wouldn’t call him hot, or at least I won’t admit that I do out loud, but I certainly am happy to see him. He walks in with a group, but he separates to get a drink from the bar. Quickly, but discreetly, I follow him. Well, discreetly-ish. Sort of.

“One beer please,” he says with a toothy grin.

“Got a tab to put that on?” Casey, tonight’s bartender, asks him and acknowledges me with a curt nod.

“Uh…”

“Put it on mine and make it two,” I break in, sitting on the stool next to him.

“Oh, no you really don’t have to do that,” he tells me in a rush, shouting over the music, but not stumbling over his tongue like he used to, which is something that has changed since I saw him last.

The derp looks everywhere but my face, his face growing as red as a cherry, which would make the previously mentioned blind alien extremely excited I guess.

“John, it’s fine. Employee discount,” I yell back and he finally looks over at me.

“Oh, Dave!” his sad smile breaks my heart. “So this is what you meant when you said you had a new job.”

I quit on the best of terms possible, which of course means jack shit. To me, it sounded like a break up through and through. It isn’t you; it’s me, bro. It’ll be fine, man. Just don’t have the gambit for a joke shop. No hard feelings, right? No? Good, I’ll see you around. And like a breakup, he took it hard and personally.

“Yeah. Really man, it wasn’t you. It was just some personal issues. Really, I wouldn’t have quit if I hadn’t had to, you know I love that place,” I tell him again, being much more open with him than I used to be, irony be damned.

The fact of the matter is that I’m not completely lying. My issues were strictly personal; he couldn’t and can’t do anything about them. Well if we’re talking factually, I’m madly in love with my best bro so technically he could do something, but his short curiosity in men says nothing for his willingness to invest himself in a long-term homosexual relationship.

“I just feel like I did something wrong,” he mutters, staring down into his glass.

“Nah, man, you didn’t do a thing. Hey, I’ll tell you what, why don’t we hang out tonight? Just because we aren’t coworkers doesn’t mean that we can’t be friends, right?” I’m are desperate; I don’t just want to let him go.

It’s pathetic.

“Actually, I can’t. I’m here with a group; I just came over to grab a drink,” he replies with a nervous and terribly sorrowful smile after a moment of silence, downing the last of his drink.

“Well then, I’ll let you get back to them. Don’t want to keep anyone waiting, right?”

With another half smile shared between us, he grabs the freshly filled glass and slides off of the stool and makes his way over to his friends. I catch a pitiful glance from Casey and rest my head on the bar with a groan. Without my permission, a few hours slip by in a flurry of alcohol and terribly DJing. The next time that I look up, Mr. Buckteeth is in my face.

“Oh good, I thought you’d passed out for a second there!” he giggled, the boy actually giggled and it’s ripping me apart. “The DJ’s calling for a final dance, some slow dance thing, and I’m down a girl for the next fifteen minutes.”

His voice is slurred slightly; he must have come back for more beer while the hours were making their frantic escape. I try to convince myself that it isn’t a good idea to dance with him, especially to a slow dance that this piece-of-shit DJ is doing. Doesn’t he know that you don’t do slow dances at clubs? Hah, for a moment there I forgot that I’m just at a small bar’s holiday party. Either way, I can’t come up with a good reason.

“Let’s dance.”

John’s grin splits his face and my arm is nearly pulled out of my socket as he drags me to the dance floor. A smile twitches at my lips as well, but I manage to wrangle it into a smirk before it gets too big. Not even in his happiest moments does Dave Strider break character. When the song suddenly – too suddenly, punk, learn to transition better – shifts into a slow song – this guy still has to be crazy if he thinks a slow dance is okay, even at a bar party – I almost abandon that rule. People abandon the floor to grab drinks while the song plays, leaving clumps of two rocking slowly back and forth. Without a moment of hesitation, John puts his arms around my shoulders.

“No homo, am I right?” I ask, keeping tradition as I wrap my arms gingerly around his waist, more than almost hoping that he’ll say no.

“What song is this?”

What? Oh. He’s also Mr. Musician, I forgot. In the back of the store he had an old keyboard that he played on slow days or when I was running the register. People were always shocked when they realized that we weren’t playing cds, it became sort of an inside joke. Of course he’d want to know what the song was.

“Sarabande,” you mutter, after a moment. “It’s Sarabande, the one off of Volume 5 of that one video game soundtrack.”

“Mm,” he hums in reply.

It’s hard to tell if he’s just being his own derpy self, or if he’s more drunk than I thought. He rests his head on my shoulder as we sway, facing my neck. His hushed muttering slowly becomes more coherent.

“Dave, I know you. I know you from somewhere, but I don’t know. Sure, we worked together, but I knew you then too. Seeing you here’s amazing and I really am happy that you saw me, I missed you a lot. Did you know that when you quit I cried? I really wanted you to come back. Why did you even quit? Do you not like me? Am I no good? Did I make you mad? I’m sorry, Dave, I really am.”

His apology hurt. He didn’t know what he was apologizing for; he didn’t know what he’d done. All he knew was that I had quit and that he missed me.

“No, John, don’t you dare apologize,” and suddenly I couldn’t stop the words. “I left because I had to. I know that you know me, but you don’t remember me. That’s okay, though, I promise. It isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I didn’t grab your hand. If I had, you’d remember. It’s okay, it’s… it’s…”

I feel an odd sensation on the side of my neck and I lean into it instinctively before realizing that John’s lips may or may not actually be on my neck right now. When my cheek rests gently against his head, I have to remind myself that there’s another rule that I can not under any circumstances break. Dave Strider, the king of cool, the knight of fucking time, did not, does not, and will not cry. Thankful for the safety of my shades, I close my eyes for a moment to hold back the tears as the song ends. The moment I open them, I regret doing so. A woman’s large bosom is right in front of me, though it it is attached to a body, which I guess is something that I should be thankful for. Looking up, I see a very angry woman glaring hard at either Egbert, or me I’m not sure. That is something I am most certainly not thankful for.

“John Egbert, what do you think you are doing?” the lady growls, that’s the only way to describe it.

“Sorry Lindsay,” he mutters and stumbles over his own feet as she drags him away from me.

After sitting him down against the wall, she returns to the spot where I am still rooted. I expect my expression must be something to behold, what with my little albino eyebrows raised well above my shades and my chin touching the ground. Her anger knows no bounds. Only someone who is in a blind fury could slap a confused young man so hard across the cheek when he doesn’t even know the charges against him.

“Get away from him! I don’t want some faggot trying to get it on with my boyfriend, do you hear me? Just because he might be a bit drunk doesn’t mean that it’s okay to take advantage of him!” she snarls.

Oh. That would explain some things.

“Do you hear me? I said do you fucking hear me?”

She’s repeating herself. Not good. My already-open mouth refuses to make any noise. John’s got a girlfriend. John Egbert. Has a girlfriend. My John Egbert. Has a fucking girlfriend. This cannot be happening.

“You dirty fuck, I’m talking to you!”

The sharp sting of another slap pulls me out of my daze. There’s a burning feeling and touch my hand to the tingling skin. With another snort of annoyance, she notes my shirt.

“Your boss will be hearing from me, you disgusting pervert,” she hisses and turns her back to me.

I give a nod to Casey as I abscond to the storeroom again. On the trip back home, I notice that there are tears streaming down my face. At this point, I don’t give a damn. For just a moment, I was as happy as I have ever been. Just that should have been enough to warm me of the whole avalanche of shit that was headed my way. Of course the moment I finally let myself show outward compassion and care, even hope, like so many therapists have told me to do, I get slapped in the face. Twice. There’s a few points for the poker face there, I’m sure of it.

After slamming my bike into its lock and storming into the apartment, I make a beeline for the corner and assume the fetal position. When I said earlier that I was being ripped apart atom by atom, I was lying. Any other time I’ve said it, I was just spitting words. This is what it feels like to be torn in half over and over again until there’s nothing left of you. I should have known better than to let myself be open with anyone. Still, I could manage to forgive myself. It was John after all; he would never hurt me on purpose. My feelings toward him are undeniable, that much is true. Love, adulation, affection, amour, adoration, devotion, fondness, infatuation, call it what you may. It’s enough for me to forgive myself for pulling my walls down like the good old Berlin, even for just a moment. What I can’t forgive is assuming that he was the same sobbing mess, waiting for his hero to remember him. All that he had been was drunk and down a girlfriend for the final dance. That’s the only reason he said those things.

I can’t believe I was so stupid.

I can’t.

I just.

Can’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is the end. The third chapter that existed at one point was deleted because it didn't fit well with the story. I have no plans to continue right; there is no happy ending. Not yet at least, but sometimes things change... (:


End file.
